


written in the stars

by jimin_thighs



Category: EXO (Band), VIXX, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS, 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Demigods, Implied Mpreg, M/M, MAMA Powers, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8501071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimin_thighs/pseuds/jimin_thighs
Summary: Jongdae doesn’t remember much about his mother. All he can recall about her is striking eyes, their grey and mysteric depths always gleaming, and her affinity for storms. She loved them, would always stand outside in the midst of them, head turned up towards the sky, arms out, as if she was welcoming the clouds and lightning to tryout it’s worst on her. And Jongdae guess that one day, it did. One day she walked out into a storm, smile small and sad, eyes sparkling with tears, and never came back. Years later, that’s all Jongdae can remember, the time picking away at the handful of memories. Even so, when he wakes up early one morning, peering into the warped silver of his mirror as he washes up, recognizes the glittering eyes of mother...except they’re now his.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> suchen myth!au  
> i've made up all of my own gods and whatnot, so the first chapter is a worldbuilding chapter so you can understand the setting and basis of the story! enjoy! also posted on my AFF (fries999)

**Gods/Goddess:[what they look like](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1g3HT1B3HsPUcloU86Gm_x-sbDUUMaUQEEXok3t5Ypog/edit?usp=sharing)**

(first three) most-least powerful / (all) age order

  * Shigak - time/space/places/hierarchical statues - (m) King of the Gods
    * characterized by dark hair, eyes, and skin
  * Gochi - health/life/wellness/goodness/peace - (f) Queen of the Gods
    * characterized by small frames, gold or caramel eyes
  * Jikeun - death/chaos/darkness (f) sister to Gochi
    * characterized by dark hair, eyes, but forms are ever-changing
  * Seolri - frost/chill/death (m) only son of Jikeun
    * characterized by white hair and eyes and fair skin
  * Mul - water/seas - (f) eldest daughter of Shigak/Gochi ~ twin to Bul
    * characterized by deep blue eyes or, more rarely, hair
  * Bul - fire/hearth - (f) eldest daughter of Shigak/Gochi ~ twin to Mul
    * characterized by red or orange hair or eyes
  * Konggi - air/atmosphere (m) eldest son of Shigak/Gochi ~ twin to Jigoo
    * characterized by light blue or hazel eyes and pale hair
  * Jigoo - earth/strength/nurturing/fertility (m) eldest son of Shigak/Gochi ~ twin to Konggi
    * characterized by brown eyes and hair, even darker skin
  * Nalshi - lightning/weather (f) youngest daughter of Shigak/Gochi
    * characterized by silver or grey eyes, or more rarely, hair
  * Bikshin - light/sun (m) youngest son of Shigak/Gochi
    * characterized by golden eyes, hair, or skin



**Goryeo - on the Goryeon Peninsula - has three regions:**

  * (1) northern mountains ~ rough, rugged, and cold, deadly to those who aren’t familiar with the landscape/weather
  * (2) southwestern marshlands ~ swampy and hot, but good for crops, few big cities, more little towns where peasant farmers work
  * (3) southeast piedmont ~ fair and warm with a gently rolling hills and valleys, where the capital and the majority of the population works



**important places:**

  * national capital - Busan ~ home of the royalty and rich, the only peasants are servants and live on the outskirts of the city, in slums and closely huddled shacks.
  * religious temples for the gods/goddesses are sprinkled around the town, all except for Seoulri and Jikeun
  * spiritual homes/towns of the gods and goddess:
  * Shigak & Gochi - Busan
  * Mul - Jeju
  * Bul - Ulleung
  * Jikeun - Pyongyang
  * Seolri - Seoul



**culture:**

  * traditional wealthy/poor relations - poor people have jobs requiring labor (farming, soldiers, servants)middle class have slightly easier labor jobs (tailors, shop-owners, tavern owners), wealthy/nobility/royalty either have no job or ceremonial job titles (landowners, generals)



**holidays:**

  * there are festivals during different parts of the year for the gods and goddess & during them, there are feasts, time off work, and parades
  * Chuseok is also an important feast, during which the birth of the gods is celebrated by all of the people
  * the King’s Festival, which is celebrated at the beginning of winter (end of autumn), invites all demigods (or people who think they are demigods) to Busan to fight and duel for money, bragging rights, and the attention of the royal family and wealthy nobility. Also, if there is no direct offspring for the throne (son, daughter, brother, sister) and king or queen dies or wishes to abdicate the winners of the most recent festival become the new ruling body
    * the King’s Festival is run like this- demigods are invited, on the last week of October, to the capital. First, they prove they have strong powers and then are given lodging in the castle and are ranked, 1-15. Those score less than 5 are dropped and the rest stay. They have two weeks to pick a partner and train until the duels. If there is an odd number, one team is chosen to immediately advance to the next level. By the end, there’s two teams and whoever wins claims the fame and glory.



**money/currency:**

  * bronze pieces → silver pieces → gold pieces → note
    * bronze = $1 → silver = $50 → gold = $100 → note = $1000



**biological/aesthetic stuff:**

  * rich, middle class, poor:
    * rich ~ rich colors, often white and lighter colors; long, flowing garments, jewels, accessories; better teeth, better smelling
    * poor ~ darker, grubbier garments, roughly cut & made out of wool and burlap or cheap cottons; grubbier, dirtier, bad health
    * middle class ~ somewhere in between
  * dominant/submissive:
    * dominant ~ bigger, bulkier frames; generally stronger
    * submissive ~ smaller, leaner frames; generally weaker
  * northern, southwestern, southeastern:
    * northern ~ small, bulky frames, smaller, lighter eyes, lighter skin
    * southwestern ~ darker hair, skin and eyes, taller, thinner frames
    * southeastern ~ can be a mixture of both  
  * mortal/demigod/god:
    * mortals ~ relatively weak and slow, susceptible to cold, illness and grave woundings; puberty 11-16
    * demigods ~ very strong and fast compared to humans, resistant to the elements and woundings; puberty 15-20
      * demigods can pass along their powers through death-- so one demigod has to kill another to gain their powers
      * demigods are susceptible to weapons dipped in god’s blood
    * gods ~ immortal, immeasurably strong and fast, magical and all powerful



**time:**

  * mechanical./technical setting: late 1700
    * things they have: mechanical guns, printing machines, ink pens, oil lanterns
    * things they don’t have: cars, cameras, washing machines, dishwashers, trains
  * medicinal setting: late 1700s
    * things they have: plant/animal based cures, recipe-like cures  that are passed down through family
    * things they don’t have: pills, knowledge of germs/bacteria, doctors, hospitals
    * note: with the existence of the gods comes magical medicine, which comes from Gochi and her demigods



**nearby geography:**

  * Xia (China):
    * immigrants from Xia often settle in the southwest




	2. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> actual first chapter!

Jongdae doesn’t remember much about his mother. All he can recall about her is striking eyes, their grey and mysteric depths always gleaming, and her affinity for storms. She loved them, would always stand outside in the midst of them, head turned up towards the sky, arms out, as if she was welcoming the clouds and lightning to tryout it’s worst on her. And Jongdae guesses that one day, it did. One day she walked out into a storm, smile small and sad, eyes sparkling with tears, and never came back.

 

Years later, that’s all Jongdae can remember, the time picking away at the handful of memories. Even so, when he wakes up early one morning, peering into the warped silver of his mirror as he washes up, recognizes the glittering eyes of his mother...except they’re now his.

 

* * *

 

Jongdae has adjusted to the weird, slightly perturbed, or reverent looks that the townsfolk give him as he walks along the market’s dirt path. The more permanent residents, who know Jongdae and his father, ignore or pass by with only glance, but the travelers, stopping by on their way to the Goryean capital, Busan, blatantly stare, drawing them and their children away from his path and pointing at him from behind their hands. Jongdae supposes that it’s because they’ve never seen a demigod before, or perhaps not one with such flamboyant features, but it bothers him nonetheless, to be stared at like an art exhibit, so he just ducks his head and quickens his steps towards the town’s apothecary.  

 

The door’s bells jingle with his entrance and a loud voice shouts out from the back of the crowded little shop.

“Hold on a moment, I shall be right with you,” Heechul calls.

 

“No need to rush, hyung, it’s just me. I’m here for father’s prescription,” Jongdae replies, loud enough for the older male to hear him.

Heechul yells back a noise of acknowledgement and comes bumbling up to the front desk where Jongdae is waiting a few moments later, three small glass bottles clattering in his hands. All three are filled with a pale yellow elixir that Jongdae recognizes as his father’s medicine.

 

“This is last time I can sell it to you for a silver piece, Jongdae-ah. The ingredients are getting too expensive because they’re so rare. They’ll have to be a silver and 25 bronze pieces from now on,” Heechul says hesitantly, a frown etched on his usually joyful face.

 

“Really? I can barely pay you one silver piece a month now, how will I manage an extra half?” Jongdae groans, scratching the back of his neck, trying to work out the anger building up in his chest. It wasn’t Heechul’s fault none of the ingredients for his father’s malady grew in the southeast, but faraway, in the northern mountains.  And Gods knows what happens when Jongdae’s loses his temper.

 

Heechul seems to know too, for he shrinks back at the vexation in Jongdae’s voice. Seeing this, the younger deflates and nods in defeat. “Very well,” he says, “I will find a way, I always do. I am going to head out, look for some work. Farewell, Heechul hyung.”

 

“Farewell,” Heechul murmurs as Jongdae leaves the shop.

 

* * *

 

Along with his job serving at the town’s tavern, Jongdae picks up a few hours at the docks, helping fishermen load, unload their boats and take the seafood to their customers. Now, instead of leaving around 10 in the morning, he leaves at 6 to work at the fishermen’s dock until tavern opens at 10 and then waits tables for 13 hours until tavern closes at 11pm. There’s only a silver piece raise in weekly salary, but it’s more than enough to cover his father’s new medicine expenses and that’s all Jongdae can ask for.

 

“Jongdae, is that you?” Jongdae’s father calls out when he unlocks the door to their home.

 

“Yes, father, it’s me. Why are you up so late? You should be in bed,” Jongdae says, shrugging off his tattered cloak and worn sandals.

 

“I wanted to speak to you about something,” his father beacons Jongdae over from his perch on the couch, “Come sit, boy.”

 

Jongdae complies, dropping onto the rough cushions, “Yes, father?”

 

“Your birthday has recently passed and the trees, their leaves wither and fall…” his father drops off, looking at the spent profile of his son, “It’s time for you to take your rightful place and go to the capital. The King’s Festival will start soon and you should attend this year. You are of age now, it’s what your mother would have wanted."

 

Immediately, Jongdae’s face twists, a rebuttal bubbling up in throat, “Father--”

 

“Do not argue on this with me, Jongdae,” he says, holding up a hand, “Any self-respecting demigod attends the Festival, and you will. You will meet others like you, perhaps...you will meet a sister or brother of yours. You could even meet the love of your life, Jongdae, it’s about time you start looking, anyhow.”

 

The younger scoffs, rolling his eyes, “I am not looking for love, father. What a foolish notion.”

 

“There will also be money that you will receive for just participating...a few dozen notes, I believe. Even more for winning the duels,” Jongdae’s father says, spearing his son with a knowing glance, “Since all you seem to care about is money, anyway.”

 

“Of course I care about money, father. Money is rules this mortal world, holy Gods above or not,” Jongdae huffs, a scowl twisting his lips, “I will go...for the money, at least,” he ceeds.

 

Jongdae’s father hoots, startling Jongdae and drawing an annoyed sigh out of him, “The Festival starts on Friday, so leave pack tomorrow and leave early the next day. Okay?”

 

“Okay, father. I am going to go to bed now, as should you. Goodnight,” Jongdae stands and trudges to his room after his father bids a good night, falling onto the small hay pad, “What have I gotten myself into?” he asks himself.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Jongdae rises early again, quickly washing up and mushing out into the nipping chill of late autumn. The sun has barely risen and the moon and stars still take residence in the violet skin of the heavens. As he trudges down the road, bleached air puffing from his lips, Jongdae’s thoughts wander to the famed King’s Festival. Before his father spoke to him about it, he knew little about it, other than the fact it was made in celebration of the ruling monarch at that time, as well as for all of the demigods in Goryeo. He also knew there was some type of dueling involved, the prize being something only a king could provide, such an hefty sum like _a few dozen notes_. Just two notes could pay for his father’s medicine for two years, with enough leftover to buy new clothes for the both of them. The idea of 12 or more notes was just astounding and just thinking about it made his heart race, as did the idea of the capital in general.

 

Busan, the sparkling gem of Goryeo, or so said those who’d stop by in his town from traveling there, was home to the business of the wealthy, important, and famous. From what he’d heard, the opportunity for wealth, joy, and excitement lurking around every corner. Personally, Jongdae had always thought it was bunch of hogwash; how could great a city be if it was full of snobby, uppity rich people? Nonetheless, Jongdae had never been outside of his dusty little town and was-- begrudgingly-- a little excited at the aspect to experience a change from the same, daily routine of his life. That is, if he was allowed to participate and wasn't sent home immediately. _What have I really gotten myself into,_ Jongdae thought, sighing inwardly, _I don’t even know if I have powers, besides those that arrive on outbursts of anger, nonetheless those that can be victorious in battle._

 

Up ahead, Jongdae could see the worn and rotting wood of the fishermen's dock and a few of the other laborers standing there, waiting for the first ships of the day to come from in from the sea. When Jongdae arrived, they greeted him, but didn’t speak much past that, allowing the dock to be swamped in silence, which was only broken by papery sound of the sails of the first ship of the morning. In response, all of the laborers arranged themselves into a wormy line, patiently waiting until the gangplank swung down. Immediately, the ship’s crew came down, buckets and small trunks of different sea goods in their hands. They doled out the goods quickly, informing where each containers was supposed to go.

 

After delivering the trunk of shrimp he was given, Jongdae and the other laborers repeated the process several times until all of the morning ships were unloaded and they were paid, each given 10 or 15 bronze pieces. From there, Jongdae hiked to the tavern, shucking his cloak, hat, and gloves for a stained and mottled apron and gets to work on sweeping the floors and cleaning the tables. Once he finishes, it’s opening time and parlor quickly fills with customers. The thirteen hours are spent memorizing obnoxiously detailed orders, warding off the wandering hands of tipsy patrons, and collecting often pitiful tips.

 

By the time the tavern closes and Jongdae’s allowed to leave, there’s a wet spot on his shirt from a drunken customer throwing his beer and an ache in his back from his co-worker accidentally ramming the dessert cart into his back. Spent and tired, Jongdae shrugs on his cloak and makes his way back home, surprised to see light from their oil lanterns in the windows.

 

“Jongdae! Hurry, boy, I have something for you!” his father exclaims when the younger walks in.

 

A small frown etches over Jongdae’s face and he sighs, “What is it now, father?”

 

“Just come,” he says before disappearing into his son’s room.

 

After shedding his outdoor garments, Jongdae follows his father into his room, only to see all of his clothes dumped out on his hay pad. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the room instantly look cluttered and messy.

 

“What in Gods’ names are you doing, father?” Jongdae ask, picking up a few belongings that had been tossed near the door.  

 

“I’m packing, boy, since you come home so late!” Jongdae father exclaimed, picking up bunches of his son’s trousers, “You have to get up early tomorrow to get to the palace in time and I’m almost finished, so help me. Then you can rest.”

 

The younger boy sighs and hums in begrudging agreement and muttering something about his father being awfully sprite for a sickly old man. The said old man just chuckles and throws more clothes at Jongdae.

 

Once Jongdae and his father have packed his burlap sack, Jongdae places the bag near the door and helps his father turn off the oil lanterns. At the last one, his father stops him, placing a small leather purse in his hands. It weighs heavily in his hands, and when Jongdae peeks inside, dull bronze, silver, and even a hint of gold sparkle back at him.

 

“What is this, father?” Jongdae asks in disbelief, carefully grasping the purse.

 

“Some savings,” he says cryptically, “I want you to have a bit insurance in the city. Don’t keep it in your bag or in your pockets, but tucked away in your clothes, somewhere, just in case. Don’t argue about this with me, boy,” his father says, voice unusually stern.

 

Jongdae sighs and nods, closing his fist around the pouch, “Very well,”

 

“Good boy, now sleep and get up early in the morning,” he advises, patting Jongdae on the back, before ambling down the hall to his room.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Jongdae rises early like he promised, and is several miles down the road towards Busan by the time the sun rises, burning off the moon’s frost. On his way out, Jongdae had stopped by the house of his neighbor, a motherly young woman, and asked her to keep an out for his father. She smiled and nodded, gently rejecting the silver coin Jongdae tried to press into her hand and wishing him good luck on his endeavors. The comment struck him odd, but by the time he’d managed to open his mouth in inquiry, her door had already shut.

 

Now, several hours later, Jongdae could see the sparkling metal of the capital’s buildings and lightning rods. Up ahead, the gold and silver gates, loomed, gleaming under the early morning’s rays and made Jongdae’s heart trip in his chest. An hour and a half later, Jongdae was awaiting entrance into the city. In the line with him were several farmers with carriages full of leafy green plants, some late blooming fruits, and the salted meats of different game, along with some lone travelers on horseback and a few lavishly decorated carriages emblazoned with the seal of several different noble families.

 

When Jongdae steps up to the gates, the guard asks him for his name and business, surveying his cracked leather boots and threadbare cloak with thinly-veiled contempt. Jongdae’s pride smarts at the looks but swallows his irritation and answers, “Kim Jongdae and I’m here for the King’s Festival.”

 

The guard and his comrade next him snort, “Oh really, you are a demigod, child of a god?” one of them asks dubiously.

 

The other guard  jokingly hits his friend, waving a hand at Jongdae’s face, “He has those freaky eyes, so who knows. Let ‘em in, and I’ll bet you he’ll be back in two or three days.”

 

“Very well,” he says, motioning to the open gate, “Go on in.”

 

Jongdae walks through the gates, indignity burning a hole in his chest and static rushing over his skin, begging to be released. Every drop of ether in his veins screams out to strike one this nosy fools, show them who is really a child of demigod, but good sense and the promise of notes soothes his burning blood and Jongdae walks in without another word.

 

Immediately as Jongdae passes the threshold between the city and the outside, he is surrounded by bustling and humming. Even there, on the poorer outskirts of Busan, people are rushing around, a sense of purpose in their steps as they pass Jongdae by. Vendors and shops line the rough cobblestoned-streets, calling out deals for their numerous wares. Every few minutes the prices drop drastically and then skyrocket again as they attempt to seduce passerbys.

 

Confused and little overwhelmed by the chaotic hubbub, Jongdae dazedly searches for any sight of the castle in the distance and is nearly run over in the process. A stout young man, curses and catches Jongdae before he even knew he was falling.

 

“Sorry,” the man grunts as he rights himself and Jongdae, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 

Jongdae chuckles and shrugs as he dusting himself off a bit, “Neither was I, I suppose, but a good thing that I ran into you, sir. Could you point me in the direction of the--”

 

“The castle?”

 

Jongdae jerks his head up at the interruption, “How’d you know?”

 

“It’s the eyes,” the man says, and now that Jongdae gets a good look at him, shockingly snowy eyes sparkling with amusement, he gasps.

 

“Oh…” Jongdae mutters softly, “You’re--uh-- a demigod too?”

 

“Yeah, that’s what they tell me,” he grins and puts out his hand, “I’m headed to the castle too and I’m Minseok. ‘Suppose we can get there together?”

 

Jongdae nods and grasps Minseok’s hand, which is bitingly cold, “I’m Jongdae.”

 

Minseok seems to notice Jongdae’s shocked expression and retracts his hand after giving a good shake, “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, “It comes with territory, I guess, as the son of Seolri and everything. Here, it’s this way.”

 

Jongdae follows the direction of Minseok’s finger, which follows the main street. Minseok begins walking, almost disappearing in the fat and full crowd if it weren’t for his ivory shock of hair. Once caught up, Jongdae falls into step next to Minseok as they push their way towards the castle, engaging in easy banter with other boy. By the time they’ve reached the castle, Jongdae has learned that Minseok’s upbringing isn't much different from his, other than the fact that he’s the from hostile mountains in the north. (When Jongdae asks how he could bear such a chilly climate, Minseok chuckles and gestures to his hand again.)

 

The castle is more glorious than any traveler’s tale could make it out to be. It’s at the end of the main street, looming over the nearby noble neighborhoods as a reminder of the crown’s wealth and the entire structure sparkles under the noon sun, in varying shades of jade, silver, and gold. A sturdy wall fortresses the magnificent construction and many guards are posted outside at intervals, stoic statues of gleaming steel. Over their chests hangs the queen’s coat of arms, an intricate design with the queen’s house symbol at the heart, a ferocious wolf. At the end of the road, there’s a break in the stone wall, at which a steel-infused glass gate stands with guards checking people in. Minseok and Jongdae join the line a bit afternoon but it moves slowly and they aren’t granted access until the sun began to set.

 

Once granted entrance, they were directed to the sparring room for entry testing, in which they’d be judged by the queen’s privy council to see if they were worthy of participating in the King’s Festival. As they approached the building, the sounds of exertion and smells of burnt wood permeated the air, and Jongdae became nervous. An attendant came to take his things and his name and Jongdae could barely get the words out.

 

As soon as the attendant left, Minseok turned to him and smiled, “Don’t be nervous. You have no reason to be.”

 

Jongdae snorted, “I have every reason to be nervous. I haven’t even exercised my power past a random bursts of fury. Hell, I haven’t even been claimed, who knows what the hell my power is.”

 

“Don’t worry about that, Jongdae. You need this money for you father, right? Think of him, let him be your confidence, not any godly parentage,” Minseok says, snowy eyes piercing Jongdae’s.

 

At his words, Jongdae feels a rush of confidence and power sizzling under his skin. His heart pulses, ether oscillating powerfully through his veins. Now, he is anxious to be called and let inside, and he doesn’t have to wait long before the doors are opened, beckoning his entrance. Before he realizes it, Jongdae is striding into the opened doors with a sense of purpose he’s never felt before. The judges sit up at raised parlor, eyeing Jongdae with barely concealed disinterested, but Jongdae doesn’t spare them a glance, just hears their words.

 

“Please demonstrate your abilities, if you pass, you will be awarded 24 notes, a place to stay at the castle, advancement into the battling rounds and the prospect of future glory and riches. You may begin,” the announcer states.

 

Around the room are several dummies, spread across at several distances, each further than the last. Targets are posted all around on the walls, with some even dangling from the ceiling. Other odd objects rest on a table tucked into the corner of the room, but Jongdae pays them no mind, focusing on the targets.

 

Little sparks of lightning dance over his skin and Jongdae closes his eyes, imagining them all at his palm, converging into a large orb. And it works-- when Jongdae opens his eyes, a florid ball of white heat hovers in his palm, slithers of lightning convulsing unsteadily. There’s a shocked gasp from the parlor as Jongdae hurls it at the closest dummy, which instantly burst into flames. The kickback from the explosion nearly knocks Jongdae off of his feet and the roiling heat smarts his skin.

 

Awed, Jongdae coils another orb of lightning and then aims at the target at the ceiling, muscles tightening in determination. The orb smacks into the target, instantly melting the metal core and showering the rest of the lightning on to Jongdae. He feels the heat hit him and sees it scorch the ground around him, but the lightning doesn’t burn him. Instead it absorbs into his skin seamlessly, joining the ether in his veins. The fire he created, however, inches on him, baking his skin with its fieriness, almost to the point of insufferability. His hand flies out to halt the flames that advance on him, and to Jongdae’s surprise, they cease, hissing under the water that falls over him. The parlor above Jongdae shouts in surprise, murmuring words like, “claimed,” “goddess Nalshi,” and “son”.

 

Instead of peering at him, the eyes of all of the privy council are fixated above him. Where, when Jongdae glances up, a raincloud dances over his head, effectively dousing the flames and is wound into a shape that Jongdae knows to be the symbol of Nalshi, the goddess of lightning and weather…. A sign of claiming-- claiming Jongdae as her kin.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp! congrats for making it through those first two, long chapters! please comment and give kudos!! thanks :)


	3. two

Everything blurs out for Jongdae as he stares at that bobbing emblem, the first recognition he’s received from his mother since she disappeared years ago. He feels himself being ushered out of the sparing room and into another quieter, warmer room. A few moments after he’s sat down, a soft touch tugs him out of his stupor and a smiling face appears in his line out of his vision.

 

“Hello...Jongdae, was it? I’m Yixing, the castle healer, nice to meet you.” Yixing says sweetly, patting Jongdae’s hand.

 

“N-nice to meet you t-too,” Jongdae stutters, relishing the warmth from Yixing’s hands, as his have drastically dropped their temperature.

 

“How are you feeling? Any aches or pains of any sort? Some demigods tend to have head pains after the entry tests.”

 

Now that Jongdae is bit grounded, he begins to feel the tender skin from where the flames bit at his skin, not to mention feeling sapped of energy overall.

 

“My skin is tender...from the flames, and I’m just exhausted overall,” Jongdae admits, caressing the roseate tinge of his skin.

 

“Well, I can easily take care of that,” And with a wave of his hand, Jongdae’s skin is restored to its original olive shade, “And I suggest that after you are informed of your status that hurry along and get some rest.”

 

“My status?” Jongdae questions, blinking at his soothed skin as Yixing bustles around, “What do you mean?”

 

“Your status at the castle...whether or not you’ve passed your entry testing, but by the expression of the page boy who brought you, you’re in. He was positively blown away, so floored he barely could ask me to heal you,” Yixing grinned mischievously, “If you don’t mind me asking, what’d you show them in there?”

 

“My mother claimed me, after saving me,” Jongdae states numbly trying to accept the realization himself.

 

Yixing was speechless himself, just staring at Jongdae with his jaw unhinged for a few moments, only snapping out of it when Jongdae cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said, “I just don’t think that’s ever happened during a King’s Festival before, nonetheless during an entry test. You must be real special,” he says with a cheshire grin, “Anyway, I don’t wanna hold you up, so go ahead and find out what happened. The page boy should be just outside with the result.”

 

Jongdae nodded and stood, still exhausted but not so much achy anymore, thanks to Yixing’s ability. Outside was the page boy, and like Yixing has predicted, he had the result.

 

“Congratulation, Kim Jongdae-ssi, you’ve passed your entry test for the King’s Festival with a 14 out of 15. Your items have been brought to your room, along with your reward for passing. If you will follow me, I can show you to your room.”

 

Inside of his chest, Jongdae’s heart leaped, galloping into such a rapid cantor that he could swear that page boy could hear it. He was led through many twisting and circuitous corridors, and Jongdae knew that getting back to the sparring room would be hell the next day. On the way there, they passed many halls lined with glittering oil lamps and grand paintings of monarchs long since dead, along with a few dining halls and parlor rooms, all of which were embellished lavishly. Jongdae could hardly tear his eyes away from the splendidness of it all.

 

“Jongdae-ssi, this is the contestants’ quarters. There are several bedchambers, washing rooms where hot water is brought daily, a small dining hall, and parlor for you to share with the others. You will be sharing a room with Kim Junmyeon-ssi of the Kim household. Here’s your room.” the page boy bows deeply and swiftly leaves.

 

From inside the room, Jongdae can hear two voices talking in hushed tones. Out of simple curiosity, Jongdae leans forward, gently pressing his ear against the door.

 

“Some peasant, Junmyeon! A fucking 14! Can you believe that? _And_ claimed during a entry test?” A female voice screeched indignantly.

 

Jongdae’s stomach dropped, knowing that Junmyeon and whoever that woman was, were talking about him. Although he probably didn’t want to hear the rest, Jongdae remained, pressing further against the door.

 

“It’s fine, Taeyeon, calm yourself. He’s just that-- a peasant nothing to feel threatened by,” Jongdae should feel insulted, but the words were dripping in sarcasm. The other person-- Taeyeon could tell, for she huffed haughtily and marched to door, yanking it open. In his surprise, Jongdae hadn’t moved and ended up toppling over, nearly onto Taeyeon as he fell.

 

She sidestepped him but nearly shrieked anyway, pinning Jongdae with the most venomous gaze.

 

Jongdae quickly righted himself and bowed deeply, muttering an apology over and over again until she sucked her teeth and strutted away. Behind him, a man-- Junmyeon, as Jongdae heard-- was chuckling, lounging on one of the beds in the large room.

 

“Nice first impression...Jongdae, I suppose?” Junmyeon greets him derisively, “I also suppose you heard everything we were talking about too, hm?” he waits for Jongdae’s meek nod and then continues, “Well, then take what you heard as a warning to stay away from Taeyeon. She’s out for the favor that winning the King’s Festival brings and it quite bothers her that you, a peasant, is already more powerful and coveted than she.”

 

“I’m coveted?” Jongdae asks dumbly.

 

“Of course you are. You were claimed by your mother in the middle of an entry test, showing the privy council that you have the favor of a god currently. Others haven’t contacted their parents in years or haven’t even been claimed by them yet. You’ve also managed to snag the second highest ranking of the Festival. Pretty impressive of...some one of your status.” Junmyeon says, eyes scanning Jongdae’s body.

 

He suddenly feels self-conscious, like little bug next to this big bird, and Jongdae escapes his gaze to the other side of the room, spotting his little knapsack of clothes at the foot of the bed.

 

“I’m sure whatever you have won’t do, except for training. For breakfast tomorrow, you can borrow some of my clothes,” Junmyeon voice is noticeably less harsh but snooty nonetheless, making Jongdae’s blood boil.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes and there’s nothing wrong with my station, matter of fact. It’s not my fault I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth and silver little nappy on my arse. We all can’t be you, Junmyeon-ssi, so lay off a bit, eh?” Jongdae growls.

 

There’s a pause of heavy silence and, as quickly as it arrived, Jongdae’s indignation races away, leaving him with just mortification from his harsh and rude words. Jongdae slowly peeks at the other, expecting to see his pale face red with fury, but finds him to be smiling as if he’d heard the most delightful thing in the world.

 

“I like you,” Junmyeon says at last, “And I apologize for insulting you, and I won’t make the mistake of doing it again, I assure you. Breakfast will be with the privy council and some high-born nobles, and it would be to your benefit to borrow an outfit, as you will be topic of great interest. Some will want to sponsor you, some will want to befriend you, some will want to investigate you. Nonetheless, it would be to your advantage to fit in. Think about it.”

 

Jongdae opens his mouth to respond but Junmyeon has already left, creak of the door reverberating throughout the now-empty room.

 

~

 

The next morning Jongdae rises early, just by mere habit, only to find the only others awake are the servants preparing for breakfast the day. Nonetheless, Jongdae rouses himself and shrugs on one of the complimentary silk robes hanging in the boudoir. Once outside, he wanders around, not really having a place to go and not really knowing where to go either. Every few minutes he’s stopped by servants meekly asking if he needs something or if he’s lost, and although the latter may be true, he assures them that he’s fine and continues roaming around.

 

By sheer luck, Jongdae finds the parlor allotted for use by the Festival’s contestants, but the spacious room isn’t empty. There are two people immersed in fervent conversation, so deeply immersed that they don’t notice Jongdae walk in and then immediately back out. Again, his curiosity overtakes him and Jongdae conceals himself behind the corner, listening carefully.

 

“You’ve got to partner with that peasant, Wonsik. It would make everything we’re trying to do so much easier if he was on our side,” the higher voice entreats, “Mother would--”

 

“You seem to forget that we are in the castle, and that _she_ is scorned here, Han,” the second voice, Wonsik’s, cuts Han off, his voice dropping even lower, “There are eyes and ears everywhere in this castle. If you are to stay in the Queen’s favor, you should realize this and learn to hold your tongue.”

 

The harsh tone of Wonsik’s voice makes Jongdae shiver and he wants to leave, but doesn’t, as Han speaks again.

 

“I don’t rebuke me like some child, Wonsik,” Han replies vitriol dripping from each utterance, “You seem to forget who even brought you into Mother’s good graces and saved you from the hell hole of your home. Now, listen to _me_ and make it into the good graces of that peasant boy, Jongdae. Seduce him, befriend him, I don’t care just make him loyal to you and then win the duels.” There’s a creak of the floorboards and footsteps, sending Jongdae scurrying backwards and into musty smelling drapes. As soon as he’s enclosed, Jongdae freezes, pressing himself against the wall.

 

The footsteps bounce off the stone of the walls as they advance toward Jongdae veiled position. With each step, his heart vaults around in his chest until the steps halt...right in front of Jongdae. There’s a pregnant pause, and his heart thumps so deafeningly, so violently, that Jongdae swears the other person can hear it. Despite the raucous beating of his heart, the person walks away, footsteps growing fainter as they walk away.

 

Jongdae waits until the sound fades completely before peeking from behind the curtain and stepping out when he finds the coast to be clear. As he returns to the parlor, Jongdae’s thoughts race, processing the information he’d just encountered. Junmyeon was right, for some strange reason, Jongdae is coveted. The new revelation gave him chills-- just how far would one go to have his favor or be his partner in the duels? And what would they expect from him once they won him over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit on the shorter side, but a chapter nonetheless!


	4. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double post! to make up for lost time...? hehe, enjoy!

Once again, Jongdae cedes begrudgingly that Junmyeon was right about his attire for breakfast. Although the official commencement breakfast with Queen Jihee was more than a week away, everyone seemed to don their most decadent dress, gems and jewels glittering under the soft light of the giant oil chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Just a glance around the room told Jongdae that none of his, at best timeworn, trousers and suit shirts would’ve stood a chance against anyone else in the room. Even now, in Junmyeon’s slightly-too-large russet and gold silk suit, Jongdae feels naked and completely out of place.

 

“You look snazzy,” Minseok says once Jongdae plops in the heavily overstuffed seat next to him, “Have you already gotten yourself a sponsor?”

 

Jongdae pins him with a dirty look but chuckles nonetheless, “No, my roommate lended me some clothes to wear to all the fancy events, but I suppose, with 24 notes, I can manage to purchase a suit or two of my own.”

 

Minseok plucks at his own silver and onyx suit, nice yet rugged at the edges, “I suppose I can manage that too, and we can go out to town together?”

 

Jongdae smiles and nods, “I would quite like that actually--”

 

“Minseok- _ge_!” A high-pitched voice squeals before knocking into the small space that separated Minseok and Jongdae. A few of the flashier dressed dinner guests pin the boy who’d just yelled with a nasty look.

 

“Tao, you can’t yell like that, we’re in public,” Minseok admonishes the boy, before turning to Jongdae, “Jongdae, this is Zitao, he’s one of my roommates. My other one, Chanyeol, is around he somewhere… yeah, over there, with the red hair,” Minseok points to two towering and handsome men, one dressed poorly and the other slightly better, “I wonder who he’s talking too, though.”

 

“Probably someone he’s considering for a partner, it already feels so competitive…” Zitao says, lips turned down slightly, “I wonder who I am going to partner with.”

 

Minseok snorts, “Don’t worry,” he says, “Someone will approach you, you’re a child of  Shigak, and you did great during your entry tests, Zitao. It’s the rest of us who have to be worried.”

 

“Why do we have to be worried?” Jongdae asks.

 

“Because children of Shigak usually go together because they have no twin or no opposite elemental power. The rest of us have to find an elemental power that will complement our powers and make us more powerful. And the person who has a power that complement yours isn’t always super powerful, kind, or even wants to work with you. It’s difficult system, you know?” Minseok sighs, “It’s even more difficult when your powers or parent has no direct opposite, like me. People barely want to be associated you, nonetheless work with you.”

 

Jongdae patted Minseok, frowning a bit, “A child of Seolri could pair with a child of Bul, I suppose.”

 

Minseok shrugged, a bit, glancing around the room, “I suppose, but most children of Bul pair with children on Mul, as they are cousins, in a weird way… It is fine, I will find my own partner, one way or another. There is a week and a half of training before the commencement breakfast with the Queen, and plenty of time to mingle or show-off in between.”

 

Jongdae chuckled and nodded, patting his friend on the back. Minseok perked back up, instigating a conversation with Zitao about the capital and all the things one could do. Jongdae jumped in a few times, when prodded by Minseok or Zitao, but mostly took in his surroundings.

 

He was completely unaccustomed to this level of decadence and luxury. Ladies mingled in dresses made of rare fabrics-- glimmering velvets, shimmery silks, and downy furs. Their jewelry glinted off the oil lighting and their faces were primped with makeup. The gentlemen looked just as luxurious in their embroidered suits and fanciful trinkets pinned to their breasts. Few appeared as unprepared for the event as Jongdae had been, without the assistance of Junmyeon.

 

“You should wipe that look off your face,” a deep voice interrupted, drawing his out of his thoughts. Beside him, Minseok and Zitao had ceased in their chattering, eyeing the figure that stood _very_ close to him-- so close that Jongdae could smell their cologne, a salty scent that reminded him of the sea.

 

“Such a look invokes an image of innocence and naivety that I don’t think you can afford…. Snakes are everywhere, little mouse,” he said, minty breath puffing by Jongdae’s face. His cheeks heated and his stomach tightened.

 

Pushing those weird feelings aside, Jongdae swiveled around, coming face-to-face with Junmyeon. He skimmed over Junmyeon’s appearance, almost against his will. His suit, unlike many others, was muted under the lights and didn’t shimmer much in its deep cobalt shade. There wasn’t much crewel, just some gold lacing by the cuffs and lapels. The presence of trinkets was kept to a minimum, as well, the only pin being the crest of the royal family of Kim. Despite the subdued nature of his suit, Junmyeon still stood out as the best looking man in the room. The suit fit like a glove over his broad shoulders and muscled physique, Jongdae noted unintentionally, and his fair complexion and dark hair emphasized by the color.

 

A cough by Minseok sprung Jongdae from his thoughts and his embarrassingly long perusal of Junmyeon. When Jongdae’s eyes managed to crawl back up to Junmyeon’s face, he had an eyebrow raised and an infuriating smirk on his face, same from their first meeting the day prior.

 

“Like what you see?” he asked.

 

Jongdae’s cheeks burned hotter than the flames of Bul, and he glared at Junmyeon before responding, “You look...nice. And I didn’t look like a kid in a candy shop,” he said with forced dismissal in his tone.

 

Junmyeon shrugged and held out his hand to Minseok and Zitao, “Nice to meet you, I’m Junmyeon of the House of Kim.”

 

Minseok glanced at Jongdae before smiling at Junmyeon and shaking his hand. Zitao followed suit, introducing himself and Minseok.

 

“I don’t mean to be rude and steal your friend away from you, but we have to discuss some things before breakfast commences,” Junmyeon said.

 

Jongdae’s eyes narrowed at his expression, which shifted from an arrogant smirk to polite charm, clearly winning over Minseok and Zitao. Their smiles widened and nodded, completely smitten. Junmyeon cleared his throat, offering Jongdae his hand and then leading him out of the dining hall once he took it.

 

“Oh gods, that was _so_ embarrassing,” Jongdae said as soon as the dining hall was out of sight.

 

Junmyeon smiled mischievously, and shrugged, “It’s not my fault you were ogling me like a prized buck,” and before Jongdae could gather a response, he spoke again, “Seriously though, you were totally dazed out there. I don’t even think you noticed the many, many people staring at you. It was...intense.”

 

Jongdae scowled, “I don’t know what you mean. Why would anyone by looking at me? Ya know, besides the whole claiming thing. I mean, I can’t be the most powerful demigod ever. I think you’re exaggerating a bit.”

 

“I am not, Jongdae. You’re one of the most powerful offspring of one of the lesser gods, if the account of your trial is anything to go by,” Junmyeon said, “You have to be careful.”

 

The demigod narrowed his eyes, suspicion turning his stomach, “Why do you care so much, Junmyeon? As my competitor, you should have the least amount of interest in my wellbeing.”

 

Junmyeon seemed genuinely stumped at the logic, glancing at the floor for a second, a frown pinching his features. Part of Jongdae’s suspicion fell away at that expression, and a warm emotion that he didn’t know the origins of swirled in his chest.

 

He sighed, “I-I don’t know. Do what you like, I suppose,” he turned promptly on his heel and stalked into the dining hall, leaving Jongdae alone in the corridor.

 

Echoing Junmyeon’s sigh, Jongdae ran a hand over his face, trying to think critically. Almost nothing has made sense since his trial, and it was frustrating. Not a lot has happened, but all of the events had been jarring and severely different from the interactions he was used to in his little town. And a dark little feeling in his gut told him that there was far more to come.

 

Footsteps sounded, pulling Jongdae from his thoughts. A small boy with dark hair passes him by, slowing down when he meets Jongdae’s eyes. The boy raises his eyebrows, in a gesture roughly translating to _‘What the hell are you doing?’_ before frowning and coming to a stop before Jongdae.

 

“You must be new, and that is why you don’t know who I am and what I mean,” the boy says.

 

The wording strikes Jongdae as odd, as if there’s a subliminal meaning to it, but before he can question it the boy speaks again.

 

“I am Lu Han. The companion of the Queen. If I am coming, it means she is not far behind…meaning that you should already be in the dining hall, ready to receive her,” his gaze falls on Jongdae’s outfit and hairstyle, “...as ready as one can be I suppose.”

 

Jongdae is a little stunned by the backhanded insult, but just nods, scurrying into the dining hall, cheeks flaming. He all but falls onto the bench next to Minseok and Zitao, ignoring their looks as the trumpets of the royal guard plays. Everyone straightens at the sound, conversations dying down under the fanfare, eyes glued to large doorway.

 

Lu Han steps through first and announces, “Her Majesty, Queen Jihee of Goryeo, the Divine Ruler of the Earth, anointed by the Gods.”

 

The Queen strides in shortly after, and Jongdae is shocked by her beauty. She is in her mid-thirties, but not one wrinkle could be found on her face. Her eyes are brown, but piercing, shrewd. Her hair is coiffed into the lastest fashion and makeup done perfectly. She isn’t, by any means, the tallest person in the room by welds an air of soaring dignity that made her seem statuesque. Everyone in the room stood and bowed, remaining standing until she reached the head of the table. She nodded gracefully and everyone sat.

 

“This is my favorite time of the year, when the King’s Festival brings the strongest and most divine demigods to the palace. I relish your presence here and I thoroughly extend my warmest welcome and best wishes for your success. I encourage that you break fast well and gladly take part of all of the festivities thrown for your arrival,” She nods again, smiling as her eyes roamed the room.

 

After a pause of silence, the Queen exited and the room burst into rampant chatter, louder than before. Servants began to arrive with the food, not dulling the conversation in the slightest. For the rest of the breakfast, Jongdae ate, drank, and chattered with Minseok and Zitao normally, but an odd feeling settled over his nape, an itchy and dark feeling that could only be accurately construed as foreboding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh! i'm super sorry about my prolonged and obnoxious absence. here's two chapters, for you! i am on a break so another chapter may go up tomorrow...? don't hold me to that but tentatively, especially since i'm in such a writing grove atm. thanks for reading!!


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